


Wind in Dry Grass

by Barking_Spiderweb



Series: Before All Others [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Child Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, POV Female Character, Wordcount: 500-1.000, written before the game was released
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barking_Spiderweb/pseuds/Barking_Spiderweb
Summary: "In her mind, Hope County never changes."





	Wind in Dry Grass

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a little over a year ago before we had anything more than trailers for Far Cry 5. The only thing I've done since is spruce it up.

There's blood splattered across the single untiled kitchen wall to her left, brown streaks like dirt staining the yellow paint. Alone on the opposite side of the peninsula, Harold curses under his breath as he lurches away from the pot abandoned on the stovetop with the accompanying sound of glass crunching beneath his boots.

"Having fun?"

"Oh, fuck off." He growls, "Why don't you come over here, huh, Clayton? Take a nice big whiff of month old stew."

"Maybe I will."

Harold belatedly shifts to the side in order to make room for her when she does just that. The kitchen is grimier than the rest of the house as of yet, the shards of glass and clumps of leaves littering the floor with the same frequency she's come to expect, but here there's the added mess of scattered food from the pantry and the droppings of whatever animals wandered in the open front door.

The nob for the burner where the remaining pot is still sat is turned to medium but the element has long since gone cold. She turns it off more out of habit than anything else, Harold's right though, the smell is rank enough that she has to hide a full-body cringe. There's a cluster of dirty dishes in the sink with what she assumes is the remains of soapy water, the bubbles long since deflated. An accompanying knife stabbed into the wooden cutting board surrounded by the same brown blood that's splashed across the yellow wall.

Fumbling with her belt for her set of standard-issue latex gloves, she speaks up. "You see this?"

"What? The knife? Yeah."

With the gloves in place, she feels a little better for picking at the leaves obscuring her view.

"There's no bodies."

"Yeah... Maybe they're not dead."

There isn't much to see with the leaves cleared away, a dark spot of blood with the knife in the center, two other places where the knife had been plunged down into the wood previously.

"Or dragged off to be killed elsewhere." She offers as she peels the gloves off again.

"God Damn."

"Yeah, something like that."

It's the ripple of the shredded lace curtains framing the broken window that catches her eye next, a few steps down from the cutting board. She can hold one aside and peer out into the untamed backyard. With a careful adjustment of her vest, as not wanting to risk any stray pieces causing trouble, Clayton leans against the glass covered counter edge by the sink to get a better look out the shattered window. The worn lace still trying to sway in the fall breeze even with her grip on them.

Beyond the over-grown yellow grass, passed the fence slumped over as if bowing to the wind, the same untamed yards bleed into the rolling hills that dominate Hope county. Even framed on both sides with gruesome evidence that insinuates otherwise, she feels safe. In her mind, Hope County never changes. Even with the shriveled corpse of a little girl Clayton will find half hidden under her bed on the second floor.

She can feel how the sun bears down on the back of her neck with its heavy heated gaze, condemning her.


End file.
